


Aquamarine

by Annabananasmemecabana



Category: LNC, Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud, Lockwood and co, Lockwood and company
Genre: F/F, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Why did y'all drag me into this, i should have just stayed in my own lane and made memes, im a nice person, kms, lockwood and co - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8661736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabananasmemecabana/pseuds/Annabananasmemecabana
Summary: The appearance of Flo Bones, badly injured and pursued by a mysterious apparition that isn't quite a ghost, at 35 Portland row one night throws Holly's life outside of the agency into turmoil.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Satan himself](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Satan+himself).



> HEY YALL just tryin my hand at writing things. Fiction isn't my strong suit B U T this was hella fun to write :) I expected it to become one solid meme but it ended up being, like, actually pretty serious. R I P

Holly didn't sleep anymore.

Ever since she had lost her ability to see ghosts, she stayed awake every night with only the cold certainty that a Visitor would creep up on her, unnoticed, for company. She groaned and turned over on her side to check the clock by the bed. 2:03 AM. She flipped the pillow over to the cool side and considered going down to the kitchen to get tea. But no, that would require going past the door on the landing- Lockwood's sister's old room, and she certainly didn't fancy going past there in the dark.

Suddenly a low thump from the downstairs jarred Holly out of her reverie. Her nerves jangled like coins in a tin.  _Shit shit shit shit ,_ she thought,  _Someone's broken in._

Grabbing a practice rapier and a shawl from a chair by the door, she tiptoed down the stairs. The door on the landing appeared to be locked tight. She made a rude gesture at it as she slunk past in the dark.

Light spilled under the edge of the kitchen door, and as Holly stole closer she could hear the same thudding noise as earlier, this time accompanied by a few muted crashes. Holly stopped in front of the door and took a deep breath. Almost immediately she wished she hadn't. There was a smell of rot in the air, a low- hanging stench of death and the soft decay of things that shouldn't have existed in the first place. Holly's throat tightened and her pulse sped up.  _It must be a Visitor,_ she thought. And then, with what almost felt like relief:  _I can still sense them._ With newfound strength, she shoved open the door and jabbed her rapier to the neck of the dark figure huddled by the sink.

It whirled around and bared its teeth. "Oh, come on, I wasn't gonna eat  _all_ the crisps. No need to be so protective," it complained in a familiar singsong voice. It tossed the packet down on the Cloth and straightened up to its full height.

"Flo?" Demanded Holly. She was still rather confused, and not really sure if the appearance of Flo was better or worse than that of a malicious ghost. "How the heck did you get in here?"

Flo smirked. "George left his window open."

Holly sighed. "For the love of god. He's made friends with a squirrel and refuses to close his windows so the thing can come and go as it pleases". She rolled her eyes and watched idly as Flo balanced on a chair to reach Lockwood's special stash of cookies. "Love your boots, by the way."

Flo squinted at her. "Uh. They're crusty ass combat boots, you realize".

"Very grunge," Holly maintained. 

Flo grunted and turned away. She showed no sign of thanking her. It irked Holly, but she brushed it off. Who knew where this river wretch had learned her manners in the first place, if anywhere at all. 

There was silence for several minutes except for the rustling of various wrappers. Then-

"What'd he name it?"

Holly had just about fallen asleep. "Pardon?"

"The squirrel. What's he named it?"

Holly wondered if she had missed a crucial part of the conversation somewhere down the line. "I- ah- I'm not sure he has".

Flo carried her loot over to the table opposite of where Holly was sitting and plopped herself down, much to the chagrin of the chair. "Well, he should," she stated firmly.

Holly shrugged ambiguously. She inspected a particularly rude drawing on the Thinking Cloth and scratched at it with her fingernail. "Talking of George-"

Flo looked up sharply. "What?"

"You two seem rather close."

Flo snorted. "In what Universe, again?"

Holly shrugged uneasily, not having expected this much animosity. "I don't know, it just seemed like you two got on rather well during the Aikmere case."

Flo, who had been slicing a carrot into pieces with her filthy knife, glanced up from her task for an uncomfortably long time. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

Holly tried to smile knowingly, though it felt forced. Why were some people so damn hard to be nice to? "I suppose I am."

Flo laughed far too loudly for far too long. "Yikes, no. Boy looks like a potato with a nylon stocking stretched over it."

Holly genuinely laughed at this. Flo's face split into a grin and she went back to forraging in the cupboards. "'Sides, he isn't really my type. Want coffee?"

Holly nodded and watched Flo glide around the kitchen with a grace she wouldn't have expected from someone as rough-and-tumble as Flo. She shook her head. "Hey, why are you here anyway?"

Flo poured the coffee into two cups. "Well, while back,Locky gave me a key in case-"

"Locky"

"Lockwood," Flo clarified.

Holly paused. "It doesn't really suit him," she decided.

"What about... Antwon."

they looked at each other for half a second before dissolving into giggles.

"Antoonie Lewkwewd."

"Big A."

"Anchovie Laundromat."

Holly nearly fell on the floor laughing. Flo had to grab the side of the counter to stay upright. "Oh god, he'd drop-kick you into the next dimension," Holly gasped.

"I'd like to see him try."

By the time they were done laughing, the coffee was nearly cool. Holly sighed and wrapped her hands around the mug. "So why  _did_ you come here? Anthony's spent the night at a case in Whitechapel."

Flo sighed and settled into her chair, dumping spoonful after spoonful of sugar into her coffee. "Well, ya boy Lockwood gave me a key-"

"Which of course you lost,"

" _-gave me a key,_ shut up, just in case I needed food or a roof. He's such a doll."

Holly shrugged. "And why tonight?"

Flo suddenly looked very grim. She sighed and scrubbed at her face with both fist. "I- I really dunno. There was this Visito, a tall spindly lady with a green dress, and she popped up with this glass shard I dug outa the riverbed." She paused and looked out the window, not really seeing anything. "I dunno what I was thinking, honest, I just really wanted that glass thing. And she chased me clear 'cross town, even after I dropped the glass a while back-" she flopped her arm around lamely in an effort to demonstrate where 'back' might be- "-And she was right on my heels when I came in through George's window. Was pretty dang scary." Holly reached out and patted her hand consolingly, but Flo grabbed her and they locked eyes. "Holly-- I have to get that glass," Flo said in a steely voice. Holly shivered. Her eyes, a bright blue color Holly had never seen on a human being before, seemed to dig into Holly's own. She broke the gaze and stared down at her lap for a moment.

"And she- got me," she added flatly.

For the first time, Holly noticed that under all the dirt, Flo's clothing was soaked with blood.

She jumped up. "Fucking hell! Girl, let me help you." Flo peeled up the corner of her jumper and gestured lamely at a dark reddish gash breaking the uniform grayish brown muck. A wave of river silt-stink hit Holly and she rolled her eyes. "Nasty. Here, let's go upstairs so I can get a better look at it in the light."

Holly went first, Flo hobbling after her. Holly mentally smacked herself in the face, asking herself how she could have missed how seriously injured the girl was. Behind her, Flo had to stop and catch her breath on the landing.

Flo sat on the sink as Holly tried to find the source of all the blood. After only a couple of seconds, she straightened up and frowned. "You're one gross housebreaker. I've got to get you marginally cleaner before I can fix anything.

Flo shrugged blandly. Holly wondered if it was because she was already losing blood. "Rad. Prob'ly Locky's got some rubbing alcohol or-"

Holly didn't even bother to argue. Instead, she simply picked Flo up off the counter and slam dunked her bodily into the bathtub, straw hat and all.

Flo retested weakly but didn't try to get out as the hot water rose slowly around her denim-clad knees. Holly left the room for a moment and came back with about six bath bombs, which she dumped unceremoniously in the water. "You nasty. Alright, let me take a look at that."

She knelt by the side of the tub and peeled up Flo's jumper again. Now, it was easier to see: a jagged starburst shaped hole in the side of Flo's abdomen, right where it would be if the creature was after, say, her kidney, Holly decided.

Flo scowled at the ceiling. "You think she's still there?" She asked plaintively.

Holly smeared antibacterial ointment all around the cut. "Who? Where?" She murmured, lost in thought.

"The woman in the green dress," pressed Flo. "She was right behind me when i came in through George's."

Holly paused in her work. "I mean, no, we've got all those iron mesh screens on the windows, and we've told him to stop experimenting with them after the scrambled egg incident-"

Both girls jumped as they heard a heavy rattle come from the room downtown the hall.

Holly's heart nearly leapt into her throat. "That blasted squirrel."


	2. Chapter 2

Flo tried to get out of the bathtub, but Holly pushed her back down. "Are you trying to get killed? Hang on." She taped the wound shut (sloppily, she frowned) and bound Flo's torso with a clean rag.

Again, Flo lunged for the door, but Holly barred the way. "Let me go get you dry clothes or something first, you'll drip on the floor."

Flo balled her fists at her sides. "In what damn universe is a potentially deadly visitor less important than maintaining pristine carpets?!"

Holly paused. "... That's fair."

Still, she made flo tie yet another towel around the already- seeping wound before pushing out the door, rapier and bar of soap in hand. Flo quickly followed course.

The door at the end of the hallway were george slept was cracked slightly, and from under it spilled a frosty pool of bluish-green light. All Holly could hear was the drowsy, high-pitched hum emanating from the room and the pounding of blood in her ears.

Actuall, that wasn't quite true true. Also audible was the soft _squish skiff spish_ of a very soggy Flo Bones making her way down the hall.

Holly turned and glared at her, finger to lips in the universally recognized gesture of "Shut up, you grimy son of a mother, the ghost is going to hear". Flo made a face but stopped to peel off her squelchy socks. Without looking back, Holly pushed the door open slightly wider and put her ear up to the wood. "George? Are you okay?" She listened for an answer. "George?"

Without warning, the door swung open and Holly tumbled into the room. The humming surrounded her and she felt her hair lift as if tousled by invisible hands.

The woman of aquamarine light moved with a sonorous whine punctuated by the tinkle of glass shards, like some sort of truly demented wind chime. Her face, wreathed in grey ringlets, was old and lined, but her long teal skirts swirled richly as if to the liveliest of waltzes. And, Holly realized with a start, she wasn't quite a ghost.

It was difficult to put into coherent thought, but the last of Holly's diminishing Sight told her that this creature- with her steady breathing, alert eyes, and firmly planted feet- was not a Visitor in the way Holly was familiar with.

"Flo, are you... seeing this?" She asked hoarsely without taking her eyes off the Thing. There were a few thoughtful squelches. Finally:

"Dang. She thicc."

Holly's head whipped around. "Flo, are you crazy? Can you n-" she began furiously, but with a sound like glass breaking, the aquamarine woman whirled forward. Her skirts seemed to fracture and come together again in the dim light, a whirlwind of silvery fragments that sliced spirals out of the wallpaper and shredded the doorframe.

Holly shrieked and fell to the floor as the apparition soared overhead- straight towards Flo. Holly twisted around just in time to see Flo flinch, drop her knives, and, in the blink of an eye, fling both waterlogged socks at the bluish hag.

As it struck her, every crystalline shard seemed to stop abruptly in midair before tumbling to the floor. There, they clicked together like a jigsaw puzzle until all that lay there was a grey enameled hand mirror.

In the room at the end of the hall, they heard George turn over and let out a deep snore in his sleep.

Supporting herself on Holly's shoulder, Flo stooped down to the floor and picked up the mirror. She held it up in the light of the hall and peered into it. Her and Holly's faces peered out of the glass back at them, worn but rosy cheeked and relieved.

And behind them was the face of the blue old woman. Flo choked and spun around, but there didn't seem to be anyone else in the hall with them.

Carefully, she turned it over so only the rather sinister-looking grey enamel vines on the back were shown. Holly realized she still had her arms wrapped around Flo's waist and stepped back a bit to catch her breath.

Flo inspected the florid pattern almost reverently. "Huh. Well ain't that something," she murmured. Holly could only nod.

*

They set it in the middle of the kitchen table and sat there staring at it. Finally Holly asked, "Well, what is it?"

Flo shrugged violently. There was silence for several more minutes.

"Well, I think-" started Holly.

"What about-" began Flo at the same time. They both broke off.

"Go on," prompted Holly. "You go first."

Flo paused as if unused to being given right- of- way. "Well, see, George and I had this theory..."

Oh, thought Holly dully, You two are talking. And her stomach twisted up a little, even though she didn't quite know why.

"Well, he had the theory, really, I don't care for that sort o' crap, but the point is he thought that Sources could be just as powerful psychically , if not more, than Visitors. 'Specially in cases where the person didn't, ya know, get a view of the grass from underneath."

Holly frowned. "What?"

"Take a dirt nap."

"I have literally no clue what you're trying to say."

Flo smirked and placed her hands squarely on her hips. "Well that really grinds my gears."

Holly burst out laughing and Flo's face broke into one of those rare sunny smiles. They locked eyes and Holly was surprised how un- awkward it was. "Anyway, he thinks that sources could be, ya know, more powerful if their person wasn't actually dead at the scene."

Holly glanced up in confusion. "Wait, how would that work?"

Flo shrugged. "Beats me. He said somethin' about this massacre in America. Bunch of guys shot, only survivor was their dog. Apparently the poor pooch was so frightened it left a, whaddayacall, psychic imprint there for ages. Dogs went nuts whenever they passed the spot where it happened for years afterwards. Apparently". Flo folded her arms and sat back.

"George seems to take a lot of stock in the opinions of small mammals these days," Holly said thoughtfully. "Hang it, I've got to put this mirror in a silverglass or something. I'll go get one from downstairs," she added as she stood up.  
Flo stood up as well. "Have fun with that, I guess," she smirked, something she seemed to be quite good at. "I'm gonna go finish washing up. I'm about certain I pooed myself when I saw that freaky old lady." She chortled, and much to Flo's own surprise, Holly giggled too. It was about three in the morning, and all seemed well.

*

Holly stared at the mirror. It sat in the confines of its silverglass case, taunting her. The other cases on the shelf were still in disarray from the break-in ages ago, and Holly busied herself straightening the artifacts and Sources covering the shelves as the mirror tried to catch her eye. It made her deeply uncomfortable, the mirror did. All mirrors made her feel rather like that- distant, clumsy, and vaguely trashy- but this one was something else.

It was quiet again in the basement, the only sound being the blood pumping in Holly's ears, and it took her a moment to realize something else beat along with it.

Rhythmically, steadily, the mirror jolted and rattled in its cage almost perfectly to the beat of Holly's heart.

She faut her breath. Reflected in the glass was her face- indeed, she would have been much more frightened if her face hadn't appeared- but there was something... different about it. The bags under her eyes were gone, her brows lighter and less troubled, even the charming dimples she'd had as a child returned to her face. She brought her hand up to her face and smiled in disbelief.

Thankfully, the woman in aquamarine didn't appear to be present, but as Holly watched, Flo Bone's sullen face swam into view. Stark white against the dark room, her cheeks were finally scrubbed clean, revealing delicate freckles. She seemed almost to glow gold in the ambiant light from the street.

"ayyyy lmao" said Flo from behind her. Holly jumped and almost dropped the mirror case. While Flo wasn't quite as clean as the strange mirror had promised- Holly rather thought most of the grime had to be ground in at this point- she was certainly cleaner, and with her yellow hair free and drying around her shoulders, Flo looked halfway presentable- if not actually lovely.

"Step aside, girlie," Flo said, disregarding Holly's blatant staring. "I'm gonna fight the goshdang ghost." And with one mighty _crunch_ , she reached into the silver-glass box and unceremoniously crushed the mirror into hundreds of tiny splinters. "Come out and get me, you old hag," she taunted.

Each shard of glass grew six legs and began skittering around the inside of the case as an insect. Each scarab glimmered with the iridescence of an emerald, and as more and more formed, they began to pile up like heaps of robber's loot. The bugs scrambled over each other in a mad rush to get nowhere, climbing over their brothers and sisters only to be stopped by the confines of their silvery prison.

Holly stifled a shriek, and felt Flo dig her nails into her shoulder with terror. The box seemed fit to burst with shiny blue-green scarab beetles, and then suddenly they all seemed to melt and all that remained was the mirror, undamaged and humming slightly as if proud of itself.

Flo breathed heavily. "Alright, I'm taking this to the Fittes furnace right now." And made a move to grab the silverglass tupperware. Holly stopped her.

"Wait, this is incredible. We could learn so much from this! I've never seen anything like it before-"

Flo scowled and stuck her face up in Holly's- so close, Holly thought wildly, she could probably kiss her if she wanted. "Love, there is no damn way," Flo growled, "That I am letting this ridiculous old bug-yiffing hag bust out again and crap haunted mirrors all over london."

Flo clearly didn't know who she was messing with. Holly drew herself up to her full height and glowered with all her ability- a deceptively high amount. "If you think that for one second I'm letting this potentially life saving artifact out of my sight then please reconsssssider." The last word she hissed. Flo took a step back.

The tense silence was broken finally by the sounds of George stumbling around his room upstairs. Flo reconsidered. "Alright," she relented, "Suppose there's a place where the relic-men keep the more dangerous finds. I'll take it there". She held out her hands to take the case again but holly stopped once more. "Promise you won't burn it?" She asked. "We have no idea what it'll do f you try."

Flo was already 80% out the door. "Promise."


	3. OH LOOK a chapter title. Its l i t

Holly was up at 2 the next night awaiting Flo's arrival. She never showed up. The cups of coffee were still there, cold, on the table the next morning when Lockwood came downstairs, Holly asleep next to them.

The next night, Tuesday, she didn't bother to make coffee head of time, and when Flo didn't appear then, Holly didn't even get up Wednesday night.

The whole week, Holly had been thinking about the woman in aquamarine, certain she knew the spectre's pale, wrinkled face from somewhere. Where, though?

Every day, she nearly worked up the courage to ask Lucy if she would try drawing the face Holly described- the one that had haunted her dreams since the night of Flo's appearance. But Lucy seemed more sullen then even before the Aickmere case- certainly not on poor terms with Holly anymore, but indescribably _angsty._

The following morning, Lockwood was up early in the kitchen, burning toast. Presumably unintentionally. Holly woke up from a dream about 35 Portland Row going up in flames and slogged downstairs in her nightgown. She took a seat at the kitchen table across from Lockwood, several of his gossip magazines, and a teetering tower of charred toast. She was silent for several minutes as Anthony tried unsuccessfully to copy razor-sharp contouring from the magazine onto his own face. Finally she cleared her throat. "Do you need help?" He looked up, startled. "With either the contouring or the toast, either one."

He grinned and shook his head. "Nah, the toast is fine, and i just really want to make my cheekbones stand out-" He went back to the magazine. 

Holly was too tired to decipher the correct response to any of that. Suddenly:

"What the heck?!"

She raised her eyebrows. "What?"

Lockwood held up the magazine again. "Kim K's getting another divorce."

Holly tried valiantly to look interested, but then something on the opposite page caught her eye. "Wait a minute, who is that?"

She flipped the magazine towards her. Across from Kim's perfectly made up face was a glossy photo of a middle-aged woman absolutely doused in diamonds. It was quite clearly the woman from the mirror- albeit a little less weatherbeaten.

Holly caught her breath. Next to it was an article about the party being thrown at the old widow's penthouse, as well as what seemed to Holly a complete synopsis of her prestigious family tree going back to Roman times. Holly scanned it intently.

Lockwood watched her closely. "Wait, do you know her?" He asked in disbelief.

Holly glanced up. "Oh, not particularly. I just thought the name sounded familiar," she said lightly. The name- E. Francesca Cohen- according to the article. Holly mentally squared it away for later and got ready to start her day.


	4. 4 (hte gay shit)

Oddly enough, Flo reappeared that very night.

Surrounded by books on her tiny attic bed, Holly furiously scribbled notes on everything from famous instances of haunted mirrors to the supplier of the diamonds E. Francesca Cohen wore to her mother's sister's lawyer's wedding reception. She pored over the various tomes for hours, occasionally flinging a pencil into the ceiling in frustration- everything  _seemed_ like it could be pertinent to the case, but at the same time she couldn't help but find it tedious. What were the chances that this crusty old spectre was actually an extension of the widow's jewelry, anyway?

Holly shoved a stack of old tabloids off her pillow and slumped back. How in the name of God did George do this? For fun, no less?

She hit her shoulder on a particularly obtrusive encyclopedia on the way down. "Ouch!"

"Careful, love," called a hoarse voice from the window.

Holly peered over a mound of sheets and books. "Flo? Is that you?"

"The one and only."

"Thank God for that," teased Holly. She pulled the comforter up over her shoulders ( _OH GOSH THIS NIGHTSHIRT IS FILTHY OH GOSH_ ) and watched bemusedly as Flo wriggled in through her window, various stenches in tow.

Flo took in the hellscape of discarded texts covering the floor. "I, uh... Doing some light reading?" She asked finally.

Holly stumbled out of bed, causing a small avalanche. "I've been doing some research on the aquamarine woman, and I think I have sort of a grasp on how the apparition works! And here, she's the center of it all!" 

Holly shoved the magazine Lockwood had been reading in Flo's direction. Flo glanced at it briefly. 

"Kim Kardashian?"

Holly frowned and turned the page. "No, this woman."

Flo's lips moved as she silently read the name. She looked up. "This's impressive. You and George with your research and shite. I like 'em smart". She winked.

Holly made a horrible face. "Glad you think so, darlin'," she said.

"Holy hell, you sound like you smoke three packs a day."

Holly smirked. "Anyway. So, I think we need to meet Ms. E Francesca so-and-so. What do you think? Would she make an appointment with us if we said we were DEPRAC?"

Flo stared intently at the elegant old woman in the magazine for a moment. Then her eyes- those movie-star blue eyes- met Holly's. "She'll invite us to this party of hers".

Holly wasn't sure whether to laugh or not. "Ah.... What makes you say that, exactly?"

Flo brushed the books off the other half of the bed and flopped down next to her with a tabloid. "Because it wouldn't be a party without a Bonnard".


	5. Chapter 5

The very next day, an invitation appeared at 35 Portland Row. Stamped in navy blue and copper ink, the elegant package was addressed to "the young Mme. Florence Bonnard" and sealed with cream-coloured wax. Holly caught her breath when she noted the return address:  _By care of the Cohen Estate._

It had arrived at breakfast and now the house's 4 inhabitants, sans Lucy, sat around the breakfast table staring at it in awe.  

"It came in with the post," George said with a wave of the butter knife. "I guess we're Flo's mailing address now. Wonder if that means she's getting _our_ stuff." He zoned out for a moment, thoughtfully chewing his toast. "So _that's_ where my latest issue of Captain Incredible got to."

Holly and Lockwood shared a somewhat knowing glance. Holly got the impression that Anthony knew _exactly_ where the comic had gone, and that George was unlikely to ever get it back.

The front door slammed and Lucy clambored up the front stairs without even acknowledging the others at the breakfast table. They all listened in silence to her bedroom door slam. 

George chewed the toast serenely. "There she goes, off to be angry at a slightly higher altitude," he said matter-of-factly. Lockwood appeared ill at ease. "Wonder what's bothering her," he murmured.

Holly and George rolled their eyes in unison. " _You two are obviously smitten with each other, you dumb turnips, just go_ do _something about it_ ," she thought wearily.

Abandoning the thought, Holly picked up the invitation and turned it over in her hands. "We need to tell Flo this came for her". 

Lockwood nodded at it knowingly. "If I know Flo, she's already seen it. Look."

Holly saw that the wax had already been cracked open. Sliding the rich parchment out, she noted a dark smudge of dirt on the card that undoubtedly meant that Flo had been in contact with the invitation at some point after its arrival at Portland Row. Flipping the note over, Holly was somewhat shocked to read that it was indeed for the party at the Widow's townhouse. 

"How does she do it," Holly murmured in awe. George noticed her tone and raised an eyebrow. "It's Flo. She probably fought the Pope for it or something equally offensive."

She scowled at him. "George, there's no need to be so judgemental. And probably the Pope doesn't have butter smeared all over his face." She tossed a tea towel at him and trotted upstairs, clutching the invitation. Her cheeks burned, though she wasn't sure why. She didn't know why she was so intent on defending that dirtball, either, but now she had bigger problems to face. She flung open the wardrobe doors. 

What the heck was she going to wear?

*

The invitation had arrived an awkwardly short time before the advent of the party, and so it was only a few days later, after an unsatisfactory period of planning and arguing on her and Holly's part, that Flo Bones arrived through the front door (for once) of 35 Portland Row to get ready for their case.

George and Lockwood didn't know the real purpose of their attendance, neither having come into contact with the otherworldly woman in blue, and Lucy even less. So it had been Holly's job, to her great chagrin, to sneak as many iron chains, magnesium flares, and salt bombs out of their store room as possible. She mentally apologised to Lockwood for every packet of iron fillings she packed into her purse, and promised to buy more when she got back.

They couldn't even decide on what to categorize the strangely solid apparition as, much less how to approach Cohen about her connection to the nefarious mirror-being, so it was after a woeful lack of preparation that Flo Bones stood on the doorstep of 35 Portland Row and knocked on the door. Holly met her inside and in the foyer there was a bewildered pause as each surveyed the other's formal dress for the night.

Holly dressed as if she were constantly waiting for the opportunity to attend a fancy-dress ball, but when it came right down to it, she didn't actually own a lot of high-society ready dresses. It had taken a secretive shopping trip on her lunch time to find an embroidered red sarong like the sort she remembered her mother and older sisters wearing in her childhood. Her wrists, ears, and even ankles jangled with delicate silver jewelry to make up with the lack of storage space afforded by her purse, deemed the only appropriate satchel to carry with her.

Flo had 'found' (Holly wanted to say that 3/4 of it had been pilfered from Lockwood's closet) an elegantly tailored navy blue suit, flung dashingly over a seersucker shirt, buttonholes decked with violets and baby's breath. More importantly though, the Grime Sphere™ had been lowered. Flo's straw-coloured hair shined and the teensy little freckles on her cheekbones appeared gold in the dim light. 

Holly grinned. "You look awesome."

Flo smiled faintly in return. "I should hope so."

George, on the way out of the kitchen, stopped short when he spotted them standing in the entryway. Holly realized that she was still standing nose-to-nose with Flo and took a step back.

Lockwood, as if smelling the possibility of drama, wandered in at that exact moment. He and George stood, mouths agape, for several moments. 

"What's the occasion?" George demanded.

"E Francesca Cohen. You know. The invitation from three days ago?" Holly prompted. "We're going. Like now."

Lockwood appeared to be going into shock. "You want us to come with?" he asked, somewhat eagerly, Holly noted. She could literaly hear Lucy's disappointment from upstairs. Smiling with a brilliance to rival Lockwood's own, she took Flo's arm and shook her head. 

"Sorry, Anthony, Flo's my date."

Both girls giggled and, varied weapons in check, turned and sauntered out into the night arm in arm.


	6. wow this is real fuckening late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY I FORGOT I WAS WRITING THIS AHSVNHJSBNSNJMSNBJSNNJS  
> Holly makes a comment in here about angry movies being for rich people, which is following my theory that because spirits feed off negative energy, as we saw in the aikmere department store, so the government places restrictions on the violent or upsetting content of films to prevent involuntary summonings. of course, the rich don't have to follow rules like that. they're rich. I made a post on t on my blog, @lockwoodshitposting go check it out.   
> smash that mf kudo button if u up.... #realgayhours

The taxi ride to Cohen's townhouse was amicably quiet, yet rife with a sort of tenseness undoubtedly stemming from the brewing threat of conflict and uncertainty heralded by the malicious blue visitor of the weeks before. Holly had been terrified at the prospect of letting the mirror out of her grasp for such a period, but as for the thing itself, she was rather glad to have not been in close contact with that monstrosity for that time. She still had vivid senses of emerald green insects scuttling over her exposed bones, and the previous morning had woken up with a wing in her mouth. She nearly had a panic attack right then and there, wrapped up on the edge of her bed with her forehead on her knees.

So it came as a shock when Flo slid the enameled mirror out of her duffel onto the seat between them. Holly hated herself for nearly choking on her breath when she saw it, but she couldn't help it. "What the hell? Why did you bring it?" she hissed, darting a glance at their oblivious driver. Flo rolled her eyes but grinned that gap-toothed grin. It made Holly uneasy. "Come on, Hol, haven't you ever seen one of those action movies? We corner ms. Cohen in her study and slam it down on the table, all 'what can you tell us about  _this_?'-like. Of course, one of us should be wearing sunglasses for the full effect, but you can't have everything". 

Holly was tempted to ogle Flo, or tear at her (either of them's, really) hair. "Violent movies are a pastime for the rich and those with no real responsibilities," she said, keeping her voice low. Flo raised her eyebrows. "Besides," Holly continued, "we don't want her all riled up, considering we're only here for information".

"This is going to be your only chance for a while to get this close to a potential visitor without arousing attention for a long-ass time!"

"Do you even know what arousing means? Besides, we don't even know Cohen's manifesting this thing on purpose!"

Flo folded her arms. "And how do you suggest we cajole the information out of her without it?"

 _Breaking out the SAT words, I see_ , thought Holly. She bit her tongue. "She's a known humanitarian, first of all. I'm sure she'll be happy to talk to us, providing you don't threaten her with that blasted Source". She stopped herself from adding "If it even is a Source". Flo seemed to be thinking the same thing. Holly saw her hand briefly go to the place on her side where the apparition had put a gash in her. And yet...

"I've been thinking- crazy, I know- I been thinking about the way that Visitor moved," started Flo. "And, y'know, if it weren't for the random demanifestation and beetle-ing n' glowing, she didn't seem very... visitor-like".

"You noticed it, too?" said Holly, feeling a rush of relief. "She was so... There. And when I was bandaging you up, there wasn't any symptoms of actual-"

"No ghost-touch!" finished Flo brightly. They smiled at each other for a golden moment before worry set in again. What the hell were they dealing with?

*

The taxi pulled up in front of the townhouse within minutes, or at least as close as the driver could get, trailing the enormous queue of luxurious cars letting out their cargo one by one at the front door of the widow Cohen's townhouse. Before Flo could leap from the car, still crawling forward slightly, Holly grabbed her arm. "Promise me you won't whip that mirror out unless the time's right," she demanded.

Flo glanced at the hand gripping her own sleeve with an expression nearing befuddlement. "Yeah. Got it".

When Holly exited the car she was greeted by a bouquet of camera flashes and the clamor of trashy tabloid reporters chain-smoking cigarettes and calling for each of the new arrival's attention in the hopes of capturing the perfect shot. Flo's appearance was met with only muted confusion by the majority, but a few went positively wild with excitement. Smirking, Flo offered a confused Holly her arm, and they made their way towards the portico. A rather grim footman awaited their approach and escorted them into the dim hall.

Holly caught her breath. The winding rooms of the Cohen family fortress were swarmed with the darkly shrouded elite in a variety of bizarre fashions, to the extent that she felt underdressed in her embroidered Marathi sari. The crowd was packed tight enough to be almost humid, but bursts of cold air occasionally swept the room, making the wall shimmering hangings rustle. Flo stumbled and almost fell before Holly grabbed her shoulder- the halls only source of light seemed to be enormous bare-wired bulbs in shades of red, violet, and gold like those used in live theatre, as if the room were really a stage for all the party-goers to watch each other on for their entertainment. 

"Presenting Ms. Florence Bonnard, and consort," rumbled the footman in a voice that, while quiet, still carried through the entry hall. Holly saw Flo tense in her peripheral vision. If the room had been an arena before, they were certainly the newest show. All eyes turned to them, most languidly and with no real interest, but some eagerly, almost hungrily.

This was a mistake.

Holly almost turned to leave right at that moment; however Flo had no such intention- or maybe had less impulse control- and pulled her deeper into the den. The crowd seemed to part easily for Flo, but pressed round Holly with a vengeance, cutting her off. Voices murmured and eyes leered at her as if they'd never seen another human in their lives. Strangely, these ravenous characters were, as Holly had first surmised, the creme of the crop. She recognized heads of state and the trophy spouses of DEPRAC officials, as well as the odd starlet or heartthrob, yet they seemed fundamentally different in the almost primal way they behaved. These was the sides of them that had never been entertained for as long as they had been in the public eye.

Then Flo's hand found hers again and she was whisked away. Holly could have sworn she felt the slight tug on her scalp as she fled of someone abruptly releasing a coil of her hair they had been examining.

She caught her breath as Flo, seemingly unbothered, sipped a flute of what hopefully wasn't champagne. Holly didn't want a tipsy partner on the job. This room had piped-in music, and, while some patrons traipsed through half-dancing to the electro-swing beat, Flo maintained a personal bubble of empty floorspace on all sides. Any other time, Holly would have assumed it was because of the smell- but this was different. (Flo actually smelled nice, she was surprised to note, like flowers and pepper, and had commented on it in the car- to which Flo reacted as if she were speaking Arabic). People's eyes seemed to court Flo with something approaching apprehension, and it made Holly wonder- again- what Flo's family's standing was to make her of such note. Before she could ask, the pair was accosted by the host.

Holly swallowed a shriek when she turned to find E. Francesca Cohen standing at their side. She was truly the spitting image of the Visitor in aquamarine. A withered yet tall and slender widow in firey orange silk, Cohen seemed to transcend centuries: even in the plum coloured strobes, she appeared a specter from the Victorian era in a full bustle and gown. Her face was youthful from a distance, but when she spoke it crumpled into wrinkles like tissue paper.

She did not deign to shake Holly's proffered hand. "Good evening, Miss Bonnard. An honour to have you here", she said instead, hand extended towards Flo. Flo's face was gaunt with tension. "Hello, Miz Cohen. Thank you for thinking of me. Always a pleasure". From the look on her face, Holly surmised that it was not, in fact, a pleasure.

Cohen finally turned her gaze on Holly. "And this is the promised  _consort"_ , the widow purred. "How... modern". Holly's face burned as Flo rushed to clarify that no, this was most certainly not the case.

"Miz Cohen, allow me to introduce Holly Munro."

Cohen still did not shake. "Charmed. You know Florence, I did invite your parents to this event, but I never received a confirmation one way or the other. Odd, wouldn't you say?"

Holly wasn't certain what she was implying, but it undoubtedly painted Flo as the perpetrator. Her fears were not levied when Flo, coolly, replied, "Sure. Must have gotten lost in the mail".

Holly was sure that at least two of the three present there were _painfully_  aware that the invite had not in any stretch of the imagination been lost in the mail.

"I have a party to attend to, but please, girls, by any means, should you need anything, seek me out," said the widow. Her lips drew into a reasonable facsimile of a smile and Holly shivered, remembering the rows and rows of grey bone teeth of the woman visitor from the mirror.

She glided away easily through the crowd. "What a bitch," Flo and Holly said in unison as soon as she was out of earshot. They glanced at each other and burst into giggles.

The room was getting rather full so they wandered deeper into the maze of rooms searching for somewhere to regroup and discuss the matter at hand. Several rooms were full of the same loud electric swing music and dancing, some laden with food, others dominated by a single large screen playing any one of a variety of functionally illegal horror or thriller films. It was one of these last dens that they chose, settling for one with only a handful of people sprawled out watching a black and white gorefest from the sixties. They stood at the very back, in the dark, and weighed their options.

"See? She's a bitter crone. There's no way she'll willingly dispense the answers to any of our questions," argued Flo.

Holly had to agree with this, having finally met the crone in question. "Whatever happened to 'benefactor and humanitarian'?" she groused.

Flo rolled her eyes in the dark. "See, being rich doesn't make you a good person".

A man a few rows ahead turned around and scowled. "Be  _quiet_ ," he hissed. Holly could feel herself getting worked up. "What the hell was she even doing back there, harassing you about your parents? What do they have to do with anything, other than you obviously sabotaging their invites- and how did you get invited in the first place?"

"I'll tell you when we leave-" Flo began.

"Well, pack your shit up now, because I'm getting the answers we need and getting the hell out of here!" Holly grabbed the bundle containing the mirror and stormed out. Flo inhaled sharply and ran after her.

*

Holly found E. Francesca Cohen entertaining guests in a room decked all in orange, seemingly tailored for the sole purpose of matching the widow's dress. Cohen excused herself when she spotted Holly in the doorway brandishing the mirror like a weapon, fire in her eyes. Without waiting for an introduction, Holly dragged her to an empty room and shut the door. She slammed the mirror facedown on the table and crossed her arms, scowling. "We've brought you a little something, Miz Cohen."

Steadying herself on the table with one hand, the widow leaned over and slid the hand mirror closer. "Well goodness me, a mirror," she said, sounding genuinely surprised, "I do need one badly! My old one just broke". She inspected the enameled design more closely, then glanced up sharply at Holly. "Well I'll be- it's the same kind- no, it's the very same mirror! I threw this away," she said with suspicion. She turned it over and ran a hand over the silver face absently. "You even fixed the cracks."

Holly had been joined by Flo, who had pursued her all the way across the house in her mad dash for revenge, and now Cohen stared at the two of them, eyes narrowed. "How did you come across this?" she asked with an edge in her voice.

Holly had taken it out of its silver-glass sheath and hadn't expected to continue this far without it summoning some malicious apparition. "Look into it," she said, hoping to quicker evoke its bizarre tendencies. With a discontented murmur, the widow peered into its reflective surface.

Neither Holly nor Flo could see what gazed back at her from the glass but Cohen screamed bloody murder within moments. The mirror sprouted six enameled legs and she dropped it to the floor, still shrieking. It scuttled around the table's legs a few times before rattling to a halt at Holly's feet. She picked it up warily with the rag and turned to Flo, who had been watching her this whole time with a distinctly unangelic grin. "Remind me not to get you mad," she said drily. "I think we should go now." While it wasn't impossible that the band had drowned out the screeching, it was unlikely. People could be coming to check on her any minute now.

Cohen had drawn herself up against the table and was no longer screaming but simply sitting there shell-shocked. Holly gestured at her. "Do you think she's going to make a fuss to the papers or anything?"

Flo smirked- one of her two primary facial expressions, possibly her only two facial expressions- and nodded. "Yeah, it's the only reason the news even likes her. She's always got the hot gossip, and is happy to spill it, as long as it keeps her relevant and adored". She offered her arm to Holly in a gentlemanly manner as she had upon their arrival. "Shall we?"

Begrudgingly, Holly took it. "You have a _lot_ to explain."


End file.
